


You Were My Dream

by thermochromatic



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Questionable Consent, Stolen Kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 04:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1730735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thermochromatic/pseuds/thermochromatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erwin knows they have no future, but the line between dreams and acting on selfish desires has been known to blur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Were My Dream

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt under the Eruren tag on tumblr. Idea credit to: erueres.
> 
> Wasn't sure what to tag this with, simply put - Erwin steals a kiss while Eren sleeps in the dungeon/basement. That's it.

When Erwin slides the key into place and turns it, he winces. The fall of the lock releasing is loud, echoing off the large stone walls, and even though this isn’t his first time slinking around in the dark, being somewhere he shouldn’t, it still startles him. The silence is almost deafening and yet he can’t help but think that someone is going to hear, Eren is going to wake up, and then it will all be over.

Eren doesn’t wake up, however. There’s no one around to hear and after a steadying breath, a moment where he stands frozen, Erwin pushes the childish panic aside and slides the gate open.

He would call it a door but he can’t make himself see it as such. It’s cold wrought iron, heavy enough to keep a small titan at bay, though nothing for a 15 meter class like the one sleeping in the center of the room, his blanket tucked up around his chest and under his chin.

It’s such a soft way to sleep, he thinks – _soft and deceptive_ – as he pushes the door until it’s fully open, resting back on its hinges.

There’s very little light in the room, the flickering of the torch near the dungeon’s exit casting soft shadows too far away to do much more than keep them out of complete darkness. Erwin pauses as usual to look over a face slack with sleep, relaxed and free of the worry usually pinching features that should be smooth, collecting laugh lines instead of adding years.

Not for the first time, he questions himself, his actions, and his motivation.

When had he fallen so far from his resolve to let the matter lie?

And where would he stop?

The questions aren’t enough to keep him from moving forward to kneel at the edge of the bed though, nor are the answers he doesn’t find, and he settles on the left side, just at Eren’s shoulder.

It’s a well-practiced routine, one that’s led him to know that if he runs his fingers through the young man’s hair Eren will sigh, that if he leans further, runs a hand down his back, Eren will move closer. Erwin thinks it’s the warmth that draws him, something he finds both amusing and unfortunate for keeping him from seating himself on the bed ever again.

He can’t be clung to. He can’t be held. Though he can’t deny that were the world different, their circumstances changed, if there were any other outcome that didn’t leave his chest aching even after a simple consideration, Erwin wouldn’t hesitate.

Their cards have been dealt though, and that future has long since passed.

Distance, he tells himself, is safer. Distance is for the best.

Reaching out, Erwin disregards that thought long enough to ghost his fingers over Eren’s cheek. He allows himself a small smile, wry amusement and relief mixing in his chest as he leans for the kiss he’s been waiting to claim since he’d left the dungeons the previous night.

Distance – practical, logical, and in this moment a lie even if the touch is a farce. He knows it’s a delusion, one that can only be embraced in the dark of night when no one will see, no one will hear, when even he can push aside what’s so clear in the light.

Erwin finds he doesn’t mind as much as he knows he should.

Just this once, he thinks, he’ll let himself slip down that slope – _just this once_.

And tomorrow night he’ll say it again as his fingers touch over soft skin once more, warmed with sleep and a contentment Erwin more often than not finds himself jealous of. He’ll repeat that it’s _just this once_ the day after that when he’s walking down the steps, rolling the heavy key between his fingers, and ignoring the reasoning behind the fact that he should be leaving, that he shouldn’t be there in the first place. He’ll ignore it a week from now when he sighs against soft lips, parted just enough to keep up the unwitting ploy to indulge him in a fantasy that Eren doesn’t know he’s part of.

_Just this once._

It’s a silly thought, almost trivial by now but Erwin lingers over it, bent down, shoulders hunched, his fingers tucked into Eren’s hair to pull that sigh he knows is waiting from his chest. His breath is warm, wet, and calls up a low heat that Erwin dutifully ignores.

The kisses are enough; they’re soft, simple, and were he a different man he might have called them sweet, but he’s not and he doesn’t. There’s nothing sweet about stealing kisses after midnight from an unwitting participant, and a subordinate, no less.

There’s nothing sweet about either of them.

Still, he feels himself smile when Eren mumbles, the words thick and slurred, too far gone in a dream to be even partially sensible but still endearing.

Too often, Erwin finds himself wondering what it would be like to experience these things settled on his side, Eren’s chest flush against his, the sheets gripped in his fingers a cover to them both, to be anywhere but a prison cell at the bottom of a castle nearing on decrepit.

Without a doubt, Eren would be warm, almost uncomfortably so if the heat he gives off even from a distance is any indication. But would he cling? Would he tangle their legs together, fingers gripping for a shirt that wasn’t there? Would he steal kisses, murmur Erwin’s name in the darkness, speak quietly when he thought no one could hear?

Erwin knows he wants answers he can’t have, answers that will forever remain a mystery, but in the years since he’s joined the Corps a similar feeling has become a constant and he pays it no mind.

Whether it’s the intimacy of the moment that sets him on edge, draws him in even further, or a basic need to feel something more than determination, guilt, and power, he isn’t sure.

He has plenty of time to consider it later.

For now, he sits up, the odd angle making his back ache in a way that pulls him from the spiral of thoughts easily enough and he methodically puts the lid back on those wonderings, pushing them neatly into the box he’s reserved for a single purpose: Eren.

That’s enough for tonight. It’s time to return, but a quick glance down has him bending once more, unable and unwilling to resist the pull of something he won’t name.

He lets his lips press against Eren’s jaw, his tongue darting out to taste the skin he’s been careful to touch lightly, gently, and the salty flavor of sweat greets him, just enough to make it addicting, teasing instead of tasteless. His fingers find Eren’s scalp, rubbing a trail down to his neck, ever careful not to be jarring but soothing, and he lets slip a small sigh as he moves up, breathing deep against his temple.

Perhaps in another life he could have slid into the small space still left on the bed, perhaps the cold stone of the floor wouldn’t be cutting into his knees and his touch could be firm, loving, not lined with hesitation and misunderstandings.

Perhaps in another life, he could have made this person happy and in turn they could have made him so.

His smile fades as he breathes against the soft scent of soap, that calm of the night, and when he pulls himself away the want settled in the pit of his gut has become painful. He forces himself to stand, to turn, and step forward before he can pause, linger longer than he already has.

This is the path he’s chosen and as he slips out of the cell, closing the door carefully behind, he keeps up a slow stream of reminders that follow him as he pockets the key and makes his way up the stairs.

He has no future that doesn’t end in blood. At times, he would almost prefer to die at the hands of titans, not his fellow man, but in this he can’t delude himself. They’ll need someone to hate when everything else is gone, the threat on humanity no longer a point to grasp onto and they’ll turn to the one that left hundreds beyond the walls, their futures cut short. When that time comes he’ll be ready to stand alone and there can be no attachments.

There can be nothing but every step he takes forward until he’s made to stop and atone for his sins.

Yet, in the dark where silence gives way to questions, desires, even hopes, there are dreams.

There are always dreams and this one, just for a little longer, he’ll keep close.  


End file.
